MPNS Ch 58

Chapter 58

There were but a few who remained—but for Lucien, who possessed both gold and genius, they were more than enough to build upon. Thus he became the great serpent coiled fully around the House of Turun.

It was terrifying to consider: a man who could bare his secrets to enemies, then bury them along with their corpses in one pit, and still wear a face of pristine beauty.

Nikiel marveled at the dissonance, though he chose his words carefully, lest he betray how much he already knew.

“Well, no… Only that everyone says Your Grace is the true genius of our age.”

The compliment startled Lucien slightly, one pale brow flicking upward. Nikiel thought it simply a look that said ‘Why sudden friendliness?’ But what Lucien experienced was something else.

When praise for himself fell from Nikiel’s lips, Lucien felt a tremor through his body—a rush of male satisfaction, as though a serpent acknowledged by its chosen mate.

Why do I feel this…

Since earlier, his own body was betraying him—pheromones thick as those of a serpent in rut. He was shaken. No woman had ever moved him so, nor man. Not once had his instincts roused so fiercely.

He was shocked for three reasons: first, that some deep beast within him now defined Nikiel as his mating partner. Second, that a handful of words could stir in him such a primal, male pride. Third—that Nikiel’s lips, from which those words had slipped, looked unbearably beautiful.

If I bit those lips, they’d burst juicy and sweet…

He wrenched his gaze away before he could lose himself further. It was ludicrous. He had long assumed himself sexless, even asexual—though his beast form symbolized virility, in truth he had never once felt desire, not for men, not for women. Even when faced with society’s most stunning nobles, sculpted aristocrats and famed courtesans, nothing stirred.

Even Nikiel—the “old Nikiel”—renowned as the kingdom’s greatest beauty, had never moved him. Until now.

And here, with only a few unexpected words, Nikiel had awakened in him a male’s basest contentment—so easily.

Foolish…

His ears and cheeks flooded crimson. He had no chance to conceal them, but Nikiel, sharp at times and oddly oblivious at others, remained lost in his own musings, and pressed on:

“Could you… perhaps mix quartz and obsidian, and false stone, in a certain ratio¹?”

And like any male newly captivated, the usually cold and untrusting Lucien—the greatest sorcerer of his era, the anonymous author of alchemy theses that dominated the academies—nodded eagerly before he knew it.

Normally, sober Lucien would never so swiftly concede. But caught unaware of his own infatuation, he revealed himself without realizing.

The alloying of metals to precise ratios was an immense challenge—but not impossible. At his earnest agreement, Nikiel’s lips curved faintly.

Even that small smile sent waves of gratification slamming into Lucien like surf pounding a shore. For a moment he stood stunned, as though drenched, before belated suspicion crossed his thoughts.

“…And what need have you to ask me such a thing?”

“There’s an object I’d like to make. I’ll bring the design. If you could forge it for me… I’ll pay you, of course—”

“Come to my laboratory tomorrow morning. It shall be done.”

Nikiel glanced up at the abrupt firmness of his tone. For once, his excessive eagerness had spared Nikiel a trap—he sighed a quiet relief.

“Good. Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He turned to leave now, book confiscated but his true purpose accomplished. Yet once again Lucien seized his wrist.

“…I’ll escort you back.”

Nikiel looked down, puzzled. Weren’t they supposed to avoid touching him? His gaze fell on the hand clasping him—Lucien, caught by his stare, snatched it away and cleared his throat.

“…Forgive me.”

“No need. And I’m hardly a three‑year‑old child, lost in the palace. If anything, the harsh sun does you more harm than me—I’d rather not trouble Your Grace.”

Lucien hesitated. Against Nikiel’s firmness, he lacked the confidence to insist, I am fine. He had already strayed far from his usual self today.

Slowly his hand slipped away from Nikiel—like a serpent’s tail uncoiling from a wrist, slithering free. Their fingers briefly brushed as they parted, leaving a strange prickling in its wake.

Nikiel shivered faintly but stuck to plan, turning on his heel. The book was gone, but relations were not soured; perhaps later, he might coax Lucien to show it again in secret.

Besides, once he understands why I need that alloy, he won’t refuse me.

Nikiel chuckled to himself as his boots clicked on the marble of the library’s outer hall, mind already racing with schemes—unaware of the heavy, lingering gaze clinging to his back.

“Has Your Highness considered this year’s dance partner?”

Lounging on the sofa, scratching his stomach as he skimmed monsterology tomes, Nikiel blinked dumbly at Paul’s question.

“…Eh?”

“For the masquerade ball, Your Highness.”

Paul sighed softly, as if he’d expected Nikiel’s confusion.

“You need a partner?” Nikiel asked.

“You had one every year before, Highness. Whatever your tastes at the time. But this year—nothing. Have you arranged anything with the Four Lords in advance?”

As Paul directed heavy curtains to keep out the chill of autumn, he spoke as if casually.

Nikiel scratched again. So the “partners” of past years had been his debauched self’s lovers, brought brazenly to the ball. But this year, amnesiac, there were none.

A partner… For a dance? He wasn’t even sure he knew how to dance. The concept felt surreal. He sat up abruptly, thinking.

“…Can I just go alone?”

“That would be a public humiliation, Highness.”

But privately, Nikiel thought: he’d been humiliated often enough already—what was one more public display? Still, he kept that to himself, biting his tongue.

“Do the Four Lords also bring their own partners?”

“Not at all, Highness. Traditionally, the Lords’ only official partner is you. While you may enter with another on your arm, they cannot. Even a minor prince outranks—”

So it seemed, in this crooked kingdom, even the debauched youngest prince remained bound as the betrothed of the Four.

Nikiel flopped back again, thinking lazily that maybe he’d just find someone free at the time. Chewing idly on dates Paul offered, wiping sticky fingers on his tunic, he muttered absently.

Paul only shook his head. As prince’s valet, he’d done his duty reminding him.

So the day waned, and soon enough came the next round of fencing lessons.

Dressed in simple tunic and bray breeches, Nikiel swung his ashwood practice sword with growing familiarity as he ambled out from the Prince’s Palace.

From his second visit onward, he had chosen not to take the carriage, but to walk. He liked the stroll, even though the distance was long.

Because along the wooded path, squirrels, rabbits, and birds would follow him, chirping at his heels.

And so, strolling with ash sword in hand and grass twirling in his fingers, chatting idly to the little animals that gathered around him, Nikiel thought to himself with amusement:

Feels just like the main character of… that Disney film.²